


Cakes & Balances

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Baker Bucky Barnes, Bakery, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Comedy, Temporary Break Up, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: It's kind of hard to date the cute baker from down the street when you're the President of the United States of America.But Steve Rogers will make it work.





	1. Presidential Special Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crinklefries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [蛋糕&平衡](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853893) by [harper2104](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper2104/pseuds/harper2104)



> Well, here's this year's ongoing fluffy chapter fic, courtesy of [crinklefries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/pseuds/crinklefries), who prompted me for this in my Planned Parenthood fundraiser. And now it's here. And it's going to get longer. May the lord have mercy on our souls.

_Steve and Bucky by[tasteslikekeys](https://tasteslikekeys.tumblr.com/post/186195678508/i-was-so-happy-to-be-commissioned-by-whtaft-to)._

“Mr. President, your afternoon delivery is here,” Agent Barton says as he sets the small, cardboard box from Cakes & Balances onto his desk in the Oval Office. Steve looks down at the pink box’s little logo: the Scales of Justice, one side tipping over with a little cartoon layer cake. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve says, loosening his tie as he lifts the box’s lid with greedy fingers.

Because there it is, the world’s most perfect cupcake.

Or, well, one of the world’s most perfect cupcakes. Because every time he opens up a box from Cakes & Balances he tells himself that he’s just received the world’s most perfect cupcake. And every time he tells himself that, he’s correct.

Today’s offering from Cakes & Balances’s daily cupcake special is a graham cracker-flavored cupcake with a chocolate ganache center and a torched marshmallow fondant on top. The cupcake’s name is S’more for Me! and President of the United States Steven Grant Rogers has wanted nothing more than to place this cupcake directly into his mouth since his Secretary of Defense mentioned the daily special to him this morning.

He may not be the only person in the White House with an addiction to Cakes & Balances’s goods.

Unfortunately, as the actual President of the United States of America, Steve has to multi-task as he eats his daily cupcake. But he can solve geopolitical problems while also savoring every morsel of the best part of his day. It’s fine. Everything is fine. The United States of America? They’re fine.

Except when Republican congressman Brock Rumlow comes in for his appointment and sees Steve licking the last of the chocolate ganache out of the cupcake’s core. “Bad time, Mr. President?” Congressman Rumlow asks with a smirk.

“No, not at all,” Steve says, attempting to maintain any sense of decorum he has left by mournfully placing what’s left of the cupcake to the side of his desk. He clears his throat and glances at Agent Barton, who gives him just the slightest of nods — the signal that he doesn’t have any crumbs left clinging to his lip. Thank God. “What can I do for you, congressman?”

“Cakes & Balances?” Congressman Rumlow asks, inspecting the box. “Not the most politically correct choice for an afternoon treat.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, brain going into overdrive. If he can’t have his afternoon Cakes & Balances fix, he won’t run for reelection. No, that’s crazy talk! He has to run for reelection. But it would probably, genuinely ruin what’s left his life.

“Oh, just that the guy who runs it is not a favorite around the Republican chambers. But I don’t need to tell anyone you’re walking around, eating those if you work with me a little on…”

He keeps talking, but Steve stops paying attention to Congressman Rumlow anymore. Instead, he makes eye contact with Agent Carter, who slips out of the room. A minute later, Agent Morita enters and takes Agent Carter’s place. Five minutes after that, Steve glances at his desktop and sees that he has a new email: intel on Cakes & Balances. Thank you Agent Carter.

“Excuse me, congressman,” Steve says as Rumlow goes on his eighth minute of ranting about whatever it is that he’s on about today. It varies. The rants are always very boring. “I have an important meeting to get to.”

Thankfully, Congressman Rumlow doesn’t put up much of a fight today, so Steve has a full six minutes once he’s gone to read the quickly-gathered dossier on Bucky Barnes, the Army vet and peace protestor who runs Cakes & Balances.

— —

“Mr. President?” Agent Barton asks as Steve Rogers, President of the United States, stares at the beautiful man in front of him.

It’s a few days after Steve first learned about Bucky Barnes. He had tried to keep himself chill, but he needed to go to the cupcake shop and meet the man himself. So his staff organized what was supposed to be a photo op, a nice thing both for Steve and for Bucky Barnes and his business. Steve knows that he’s coming off as a total goober; he just can’t help himself.

But Steve is aware enough to realize that he’s staring, so he clears his throat, then holds out his hand. “Hello, Sergeant Barnes,” he says, trying to maintain some sense of presidential gravitas. From the way that he can hear some of his staff snickering, he’s pretty sure that it’s not much of a success.

Bucky Barnes reaches out with a somewhat confused smile, and shakes Steve’s hand. Steve can feel the flour on his palms and suddenly goes a little weak in the knees. It would probably be very bad if the President of the United States passed out in a bakery because of how hot the proprietor is. “Uh, hello Mr. President. Call me Bucky.”

“Hi,” Steve says, breathy, and could mentally kick himself. He can hear Press Secretary Romanoff in the corner snorting.

“Yeah, hi. Think we went over that,” Bucky says, plush lips curling into a smile as he retracts his hand from Steve’s grip.

The thing is! The thing is. Bucky Barnes is the most beautiful man Steve Rogers has ever seen with his eyes and he’s met a lot of people over the past few years. His dark hair is pulled up into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. His black, form-fitting Cakes & Balances t-shirt shows the defined muscles on his right arm and the silver of his left prosthetic. And his eyes… his icy blue eyes are like two of the perfect blue dishes that Cakes & Balances serves their cupcakes on.

It also doesn’t hurt that there are literally framed photographs of Bucky being arrested at various anti-war protests around the country hanging on the walls of the tiny bakery. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes seems like he’s the perfect man.

“Your daily cupcakes are my favorite part of the day. They have singlehandedly kept the United States from engaging in nuclear war,” Steve says stupidly, just to say something. He’s really struggling here and it seems like his staff are more than happy to let him fail.

Bucky Barnes’ eyebrows shoot up. “Would you so easily engage in something that would kill thousands and change the lives of millions forever, not to mention hasten the effects of climate change?” he asks, completely ignoring the compliment.

Steve stares at the man in front of him, who is looking at him with this challenging little smile, and struggles not to tell him that he’s in love.

“I’m infatuated with you,” he says, instead.

Bucky Barnes’ eyes grow wide as Press Secretary Romanoff actively groans. He can hear his Chief of Staff, Sam Wilson, start to shepherd the rest of the staff out of the bakery. This is going south quickly.

“Can I please get one of the daily special cupcakes?” Steve adds, looking at the chalk-written specials board as his cheeks go increasingly red. The day’s special is the Presidential Special: cream cheese frosting, red velvet cake, and a blueberry filling with a single blueberry on top. Sounds delicious, albeit a bit heavy-handed in the color scheme.

— —

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks an hour later. They’re sitting in the cramped back office of Cakes & Balances. Agent Carter is guarding the other side of the door, but other than that, they’re blessedly alone. He feels more comfortable in this office, papers spilling over and computer running hot, than he did with the eyes of the White House staff on them.

“I’m not smooth around people I like. I wasn’t elected President because I’m good at flirting,” Steve says.

“Obviously. Electing a President based solely on charisma would be a terrible idea,” Bucky responds.

“Well, JFK,” Steve interjects.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure, JFK.” He pauses, shakes his head. “So you were actually flirting with me?”

“Would that be a problem?”

“National Emergency, maybe. You do know that I have particular opinions on a lot of things. I don’t think some of your political enemies would like those opinions. I don’t think that _you_ will like a lot of those opinions.”

“I can only applaud you for being a well-informed citizen.”

Bucky looks away from Steve for a moment, staring at a pile of papers on his desk, then he shakes his head. “This is some kind of rom com bullshit,” he says, then looks Steve in the eyes. “One date,” he says. “No promises after that, leader of the somewhat-free world or not.”

“One date,” Steve agrees, beaming. “That’s more than enough.”


	2. Lucky Charms Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky shows up to their first date covered in glittery blue frosting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [nsensical](twitter.com/nsensical) on Twitter. ♥

“What’s the best restaurant in DC for a date?” Steve asks Natasha.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “No,” she says.

“What?”

“How am I supposed to spin this?” Natasha asks, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s desk in the Oval Office. “President Steve Rogers takes crazed liberal baker to The Red Hen?”

“How about, President Steve Rogers enjoys an evening with a decorated Army vet and small business owner?”

Natasha sighs. “Maria took me to Le Diplomate last week.”

“Did you like it?”

She shrugs. “Sure. Good date night place.”

“So you think I should—”

“I think you should stick to your hand for the rest of your presidency, but that’s only my professional opinion.”

“But do you think I should take Bucky to Le Diplomate?” Steve asks, smiling.

“I’m going to kill you,” Natasha says. “But you should take Bucky to Le Diplomate.”

— —

“No,” Bucky says over the phone. It’s 11pm — a summit with Malaysia took longer than anticipated, so their previously scheduled call was pushed back two hours.Steve stifles a yawn, but he’s just grateful that Bucky stayed up late to talk to him, knowing that he has to be up at four to start the bread. The fact that he stayed up to talk makes something warm grow in Steve’s chest.

But Bucky rejecting Steve’s reservation at Le Diplomate is an unpleasant surprise.

“No?” Steve asks. “Do you not like French food? There were a few other places I was looking at.”

“No, I like French food fine. I don’t like wearing a tie.”

“You don’t need to wear a tie — a button down would be fine.” He lays back on his bed, looks down at his bare feet. He’s still in his khakis and a button down, but he’d taken a moment to toe off his shoes and socks before hopping onto his bed. They’re laying strewn about and Steve will probably regret that in the morning when he trips over them.

“I don’t like fuss,” Bucky says and for a moment, Steve’s stomach traitorously drops. Because being the President of the United States? It’s all fuss. “Listen, there’a a pizza place near the bakery called Gino’s. Family-run, very popular. Got a cult following around here. That’ll be good publicity, right? Let’s go there.”

Steve’s stomach settles a little. It’s… okay. Honestly, Steve loves pizza and aches for a good pie every so often. And it’s not like Bucky didn’t want to go on the date, just not Le Diplomate. So while Steve wants to romance Bucky, he can definitely do it over a steaming slice of pepperoni and spinach thin crust. “Sure,” Steve says. “I’ll let the Secret Service know. They’ll check things out and I can have the final decision back to you tomorrow.”

There’s a long pause from Bucky’s end. “You can’t just go?” he finally asks.

“Well, I probably could. But they’ll have to secure the area either way. I’d rather tell them in advance and make their job be easier.”

“Huh. Well. See you then,” Bucky says before hanging up.

“See you,” Steve says with a sigh to the dead line before dropping his phone on the bed next to him.

He doesn’t know Bucky well yet, but he knows Bucky well enough not to be surprised that he doesn’t like all of the fuss and bother. Still, to hear him confirm that feels like a death knell for the future of their relationship. Frankly, Steve doesn’t like the fuss and bother all that much, either. He’d managed to avoid it as much as he could back when he was Brooklyn’s Borough President, but the pomp and circumstance crept in during his term as New York’s Senator. By the time he became President, he was resigned to his fate. Now, even the typically simple act of moving from one location to another is filled with enough drama to last a lifetime.

It’s what Steve signed up for. Even if he doesn’t always love the three hour meals and specific mannerisms, he understands their diplomatic necessity. But Bucky… well. He can avoid all of that pretty easily, if he wants to. All he has to do is to tell Steve that he doesn’t want a second date with him.

And Steve wouldn’t blame him.

— —

“Maybe the blue. It matches your eyes,” Natasha says as Steve waivers between two button downs from his closet.

“Maybe neither,” Sam says. He grabs the shirts from Steve and hangs both of them back up in his closet. Before Steve can argue, he shuffles through the hanging garments and emerges with a triumphant noise a few moments later. He’s holding Steve’s favorite black sweater, form-fitting and a little worn. He hasn’t worn it since before he was inaugurated. “This,” Sam says, holding it out to Steve.

“Oh, that,” Natasha agrees.

He blinks and accepts it because… Sam’s right. Makes sense, since he was voted the best dressed member of Steve’s cabinet. Steve looks good in the sweater but also feels comfortable in it. It’ll be more appropriate for a pizza dinner than any of his button downs or presidential blazers.

And then he comes to a realization. He looks at Sam. “With jeans?” he asks.

Natasha smiles. “Now you’ve got it.”

Steve completes the look with a pair of comfortable leather boots.

— —

Bucky is late. He’s fifteen minutes late. Steve has already shaken hands and taken photos with the restaurant staff and owners and is now sitting at an intimate corner table with a candle burning and a cheap bottle of good chianti.

But Bucky isn’t home.

Steve’s been stood up before, of course. He’s been stood up a few times, truth be told, including one memorable instance where someone from one of his classes was supposed to steal his art history notes on their date but chickened out at the last second. It broke Steve’s heart but it was okay. It was fine.

Will be he as fine if Bucky stands him up? Sure. He has to be.

“Is it illegal to stand up the president?” Agent Carter, Peggy, asks him at the twenty minute mark.

“I’d have to consult with my Attorney General, but I’m not sure that would hold up in court.” He checks his phone, hoping there’s something from Bucky, but he only has his usual nine billion messages. For once, he doesn’t want to hear from the ambassador to Japan. He just wants to hear from his date.

He’s about to text Bucky and tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to come, when the door finally, _finally_ swings open.

And Bucky walks inside.

And Bucky is _covered_ in blue, glittery frosting. But Steve’s heart beats fast. The butterflies that have fluttered around Steve’s stomach all day seem to take on a shimmery blue hue in his mind’s eye.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve says, standing up and smiling. He opens his arms to give Bucky a hug, but Bucky holds a hand out to Steve’s chest, keeping him from getting close.

“Don’t touch me. You’ll be infected.”

Steve blinks, confused, then realizes that Bucky is talking about the glitter frosting. He raises his hands up in the universal ‘I surrender’ pose’ and takes a step back. “I see, I see,” he says.

“I’d hate to impugn the dignity of the office with blueberry glitter frosting,” Bucky says, taking his seat at the table. Steve had meant to pull the chair out for Bucky but that doesn’t matter, probably. (Though it does matter to Steve, probably. He’s doing all of this all wrong.)

“I think that some of my predecessors have done enough to impugn the dignity of the office that a little glitter can’t do much harm, but I understand.” Steve takes his own seat and smiles at Bucky. Even covered in frosting and scowling, he’s beautiful. The brightest spot in Steve’s bleak week. “So what happened?” he asks.

Bucky groans. “So we do—”

He’s interrupted by their server, Greg, coming over to pour Bucky a glass of wine. Just before he gets to Bucky’s glass, Bucky puts a hand over it. “Can I get a Coke?” he asks. Greg nods. “Thanks,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. Greg glances back over at Steve nervously as he sets the bottle back down on the table. Steve thanks him.

“Sorry for presuming,” Steve says, shifting, once Greg is out of earshot. He hopes he’s not sweating through his sweater. It’s been a long time since he’s been on a first date and even longer since he’s been on such a rough one.

“Not a problem,” Bucky says.

They sit in silence for a long moment. Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky looks at the flickering candle on the table.

“So—” Steve says, just as Bucky starts saying, “I—“

“No you,” Steve says on top of Bucky’s, “What?”

They lapse into silence again, Steve’s cheeks going red. Bucky points a long metal finger at Steve and raises an eyebrow.

“I was just going to ask about the frosting,” Steve says, feeling himself sink a little into his seat. He’s faced America’s adversaries with a lot more dignity than he has right now.

Bucky rolls his eyes, annoyed. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He tries to pay attention to the soft Rat Pack music playing in the background. It’s something Sinatra. Steve likes Sinatra. Steve likes anything that makes him think about anything besides how he’s President of the United States of America but unable to take a guy on a decent date.

Bucky blinks, then straightens up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t…” He pauses, sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. There’s dried frosting in the strands. “It was a frustrating day at work and I brought that with me.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says.

“Not really.”

They’re interrupted again by Greg, who sets down Bucky’s Coke and asks them what they’d like to order. Before Steve can speak, Bucky looks at him and says, “Trust me?” Steve nods, almost helpless. Bucky turns back to Greg. “Order of garlic knots and two caesar salads to start. Then we’ll have a large thin crust with spinach and pepperoni, well done.” He pauses, laughs. “It’s almost like I’ve been here before, huh?”

“Yeah, seems like it,” Steve says, then thanks Greg as he walks away. “Is this one of your favorite spots?”

Bucky nods. “I’m here every month or so. I don’t cook a lot at home because I get sick of it, but I also try not to eat out too much.”

“So what do you do?” Steve asks.

“Salad in a bag,” Bucky says with a bit of a grimace. “I shake it up and regret it at least four nights a week.”

“Woof.”

“What do you usually eat for dinner, head honcho?” Bucky asks, grabbing his Coke and slurping it. He doesn’t pick up the plastic straw Greg left for him.

“Depends on the night. There’s always a big to-do when we’ve got big guests coming, so the kitchen pulls out all the stops. A few nights ago we had salmon wrapped in puff pastry and it was great. But most nights I just need to eat quickly so I’ll have a turkey burger or a salad.” He pauses, then adds, “Some nights I’m just exhausted and I eat cereal out of the box on my bed before passing out.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “Really?” he asks, actually smiling for the first time since they sat down.

Something settles in Steve’s chest. “Yeah. I like Quaker Oatmeal Squares but when I’ve had a particularly bad day, I get Lucky Charms.”

“I made a Lucky Charms cupcake once. Cinnamon-oat cupcake with a cream center and buttercream frosting—”

“With mallow bits on top,” Steve completes.

“You remember it?” Bucky asks.

“I had one of the aides run back to the shop for two more,” Steve says with a laugh. “I loved that one.”

Bucky chuckles, then leans back in his chair. “So you do actually eat the cupcakes?” he asks.

“I’m addicted.” He pauses. “Did you think I wasn’t?”

Bucky shrugs, not quite meeting Steve’s eye. “All of this seems a little…”

“Fussy?” Steve supplies, remembering Bucky’s word from the other night.

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “The last guy I went out with rawed me on the back of his motorcycle then asked me if I was into vampirism. I went out with him again but it was too weird when he bit me.” Bucky stops and looks up. Steve follows his gaze to see Greg looking mildly traumatized with their salads and garlic knots.

“Here you go,” Greg says in a shaking voice.

“I’m not a vampire,” Bucky says, smiling at Greg sweetly.

“You can prove it by eating one of those garlic knots,” Steve says, gesturing down to the basket. Bucky immediately reaches over and stuffs one in his mouth, then grins at Greg, then Steve.

Steve is utterly charmed and very grateful that the staff was willing to sign NDAs.

Things start to get better from there. The garlic knots and salad are delicious and Bucky starts opening up. He’s bawdy and hilarious with great stories about the bakery and his teenage years as a rebel without a cause in Brooklyn. And he seems genuinely interested as Steve stumbles a through a few of the funnier stories from when he was mayor.

“You’re a disaster,” Bucky says with a mouth full of steamy, cheesy pizza. It’s a quirk of his, talking with his mouth full. Steve doesn’t mind.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a little rueful chuckle. “Guess I am.”

“Don’t look sad about it,” Bucky says, kicking Steve’s foot with his own under the table. He’s wearing Doc Martens, so it hurts, but only a little. “You’re like… a good disaster. I thought you’d be more of a square.”

“I’m a disaster masquerading as a square.” Steve focuses on shaking some red pepper flakes onto his pizza. “But it’s kind of important for my job.”

“Hey,” Bucky says in a gentler voice. Steve looks up and he’s smiling at Steve, a little bit of pizza sauce at the corner of his lip. “You look really nice in that sweater, Steve.”

Steve’s cheeks go red and Bucky’s smile expands into a full-fledged grin.

— —

“You never told me why you’re covered in frosting,” Steve says a little while later. They’re both poking at a plate of zeppole. Neither are hungry after the pizza, but it was the only dessert option and Steve wanted to stay just a little bit longer. He thinks that Bucky may want to, too.

“Oh, well, I—”

“Here’s your check,” Greg interrupts, setting the check down by Steve’s plate. Bucky reaches out for it, but Steve slaps his hand down.

“I can’t let the taxpayers of the United States pay for my dinner.”

“That’s why we invest in a safety net, so we can help each other and ourselves,” Steve says, oozing with sincerity, as he grabs the check with one hand and pulls his wallet from his back pocket with the other.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he says.

“Besides, I’m not paying with taxpayer money. I have a salary.” He slips enough cash to cover the bill and a sizable tip into the bill fold, but keeps a hold on it until Greg returns a few moments later to take it. “All set,” Steve tells him.

He looks at Bucky, ready to say goodbye, but before he can say the words Bucky says, “Can you come with me to the bathroom for a sec? I need some help washing this frosting off.”

Steve blinks, surprised. “Oh, sure,” Steve says, standing up. He glances at Agent Carter, who gives him a small nod. It’s all clear.

— —

“So I can get the soap, and—” Steve starts, but is interrupted by Bucky’s lips on his own. Bucky presses up on him, backs Steve into the black and white tile of the bathroom wall. It takes Steve a hot second to catch up to what’s happening, but once he does, he shuts his eyes and gives it to Bucky as best he can.

It’s been a long time since he’s kissed anyone, but pressing your tongue into the crease of your crush’s lips is sort of like riding a bicycle. At least, it seems that way when Bucky shivers and opens his mouth.

Steve’s not sure how long they spend in the bathroom, kissing each other with garlic breath, but for the first time since he was inaugurated, time seems irrelevant and slow. He could stay here forever; he wants to move the White House into this bathroom.

It’s Bucky who pulls away, lips red and breathing hard. “I didn’t wanna do it in front of everyone,” he says. “Thanks for humoring me. It was a stupid line.”

“It was a line?” Steve asks stupidly, then realizes that of course it was a line.

Bucky smiles, but it’s soft. He reaches over and smooths out Steve’s sweater with a gentle hand. “It’s not all about fuss,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t like the attention. I’m… shy.” He glances up. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Steve says, an immediate response. He moves his hand to Bucky’s face, tracing the stubble on his jaw with his thumb. “I understand, believe it or not. And I’d understand if that meant you didn’t want to go out again, too.”

“You ding dong,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. “When are we going out again?”

Steve grins.

— —

The next morning there’s a box on his desk from Cakes & Balances and a handwritten note.

_It was a children’s make-your-own cupcake birthday party that turned into a food fight. The parents didn’t want to pay, either, so it was a shitty day. I was cleaning the place up when I realized I was gonna be late for our date. I almost didn’t come. But I’m glad I did._

_\- Bucky_

Something warm and happy in his chest, Steve opens up the box.

It’s a Lucky Charms cupcake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your enthusiasm about this idea!!!!!!!! I was floored by the response to chapter one and I hope I can continue to write cute presidential shenanigans for y'all!!


	3. Strawberry Prosecco Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve leaves DC for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vibe of this chapter was very much inspired by Bill Frisell's cover of [In My Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fA6JlZX5x4k).

Three dates later, Steve knows he feels more for Bucky than he has for anyone in a long, long time. It’s probably infatuation, but he sees a _future_ with Bucky. Or, rather, he feels a future. He doesn’t know what a future would look like, per se. But he’d like to have one with Bucky.

But the thing is, Steve can’t spend his days doodling “Mr. President Barnes” on his legal pad.

There’s the whole President of the United States thing and he can’t let his infatuation get in the way of geopolitical problem solving. So a month into their relationship, Steve heads out of DC for a week-long summit with other world leaders in Portugal. Normally, this is the kind of event he gets excited for. It’s a break from the White House and the unrelenting scrutiny of the American public, and he gets the opportunity to work with others and see a little bit of the world. Plus, he can make knowing eye contact with King T’Challa whenever one of the more annoying world leaders says something stupid. Still, he can’t help but feel a little testy and on-edge as he boards Air Force One. A week without Bucky suddenly feels like a long time.

And honestly? He feels stupid for feeling so annoyed about it, which puts him in the worst kind of cyclical bad mood.

“Please keep your despair to yourself,” Sam says from the seat next to him, eyes focused on his laptop screen. “Some of us are trying to run the free world here.”

Steve exhales and slumps down in his seat. He can feel his pressed button down crinkling but can’t bring himself to care. A minute later, he tries picking up the book he brought for a bit of light reading on the plane. Thirty seconds after that, he sets it back down and turns to Sam. “Can we go over my remarks for the luncheon?” he asks.

“Green trade,” Sam says. “It’s all about the Green Trade Agreement this week. Got that?” Steve nods. “This is your big chance.”

“Ours,” Steve corrects, gently. Sam looks up from his computer screen for the first time. “This is as much your legislation as it is mine.”

Sam rolls his eyes without heat. “I did everything I could on my end. Now you just need to convince a dozen world leaders that the initiative aligns with their specific agendas _and_ get your own notoriously anti-green energy constituency to come along for the ride.”

“Easy peasy,” Steve says, cracking a smile for the first time since he boarded the plane.

“Lemon squeazy,” Sam returns, holding out his fist for Steve to high five. They look silly, but it’s their little ritual, their own secret handshake created on the campaign trail. It happened organically on the night Steve told Sam that he’d be running for President and that he wanted Sam to be by his side. It had taken a few glasses of white wine to work up the courage to tell his best friend and Chief of Staff, so by the time that Sam asked him if they were really doing this, Steve had scoffed and replied, “easy peasy” and that was that. Sam had given him shit about the exchange for a few weeks, but what started out as something to poke fun at became one of their many little traditions.

“Have you heard anything from the Veep?” Steve asks.

Vice President Tony Stark was an unusual VP choice, but somehow he and Steve manage to make things work. The millionaire inventor brought a lot of Silicon Valley-types who were otherwise skeptical of Steve’s more liberal policies into the fold during the election and now they balance each other out in the White House. Even if every other one of their conversations ends in an argument.

“Things are looking good. He’s meeting with the Secretary of Defense this afternoon.”

“Good. Rhodey’s the only one who can really deal with him.”

He and Sam share a chuckle, then settle in for the rest fo the flight. They continue to go over talking points for the Green Trade Agreement and check in with the cabinet members Steve left in DC. Seems like things are going well; or, at least as well as things tend to go in the dumpster fire of a country they’ve been tasked with leading.

Hours later, they land in Portugal. As Steve exits the plane — waving and smiling as he descends a staircase leading to the President of Portugal — he feels his personal phone buzz in his pocket.

He doesn’t have the opportunity to check his messages until after he’s greeted his hosts and given the local press a soundbite, but when he gets into his chauffeured car, he checks his phone and sees a photo from Bucky. It’s early in the morning in DC and he can see a bit of pink sunlight filtering in through the bakery kitchen’s small window. Bucky stands at a table, wrist-deep in a ball of dough. He’s got a soft smile and flour on the side of his face and in his dark hair. His worn navy Cakes & Balances shirt is tight against the muscles of his chest and right arm. Something tightens in Steve’s chest just to look at him.

Steve wants to stand in the soft morning light of the bakery kitchen, to smell the yeast, and watch the bread dough rise. He wants to press his face to the crook of Bucky’s neck and wrap his arms around his waist as Bucky kneads the dough for the day’s bread.

It’s a short pang, but a pang nonetheless.

While Steve has happily devoted himself to public service and is honored to serve as his country’s leader, there’s always been a piece missing, something that no election has brought him. And there are moments when he wonders what could have been if he’d chosen any other career path in the world. Short moments, but moments nonetheless.

“You okay?” Sam asks with a skeptical eye as the car starts rolling.

“Of course,” Steve responds, slipping out of his own humanity and back into his roll as the President of the United States.

That doesn’t stop him from shooting a quick reply back to Bucky:

_Take me through your day?_

Bucky responds a few seconds later with another photo, this time of a row of bread loaves baking.

Steve takes one breath, then another.

And he prepares himself for the day ahead.

— —

He gets a photo of Bucky’s staff meeting as he enters his own meeting with his Portuguese Ambassador.

There’s a photo of a croquembouche when Steve’s finished talking to the media.

As he slips into the luncheon, Bucky sends a selfie, looking bored at the cash register.

Steve smiles, looking at his phone, almost not realizing that the event is about to start. He barely slips it back into his pocket before the speaker begins telling everyone how happy he is they could make it to the event. Even though it’s a luncheon, it’ll probably be more than an hour until they can actually eat, and at least fifteen minutes of that hour will be taken up by Steve’s own remarks. He’s got index cards in his pocket but he knows the words well enough without them.

He makes meaningful eye contact with King T’Challa, who is seated next to him, and feels grateful to have his favorite world leader nearby.

— —

Steve’s remarks are met with a warm reception, so he feels okay as he sits back down and the soup is served.

Still, T’Challa gives him a skeptical look.

“Where is your head today?” he asks in a quiet voice.

Since the other folks at the table are otherwise occupied, Steve slips his phone out of his coat pocket. He feels almost shy as he shows his friend the photo of Bucky from this morning. “I’m seeing someone,” he confides.

“A baker?” T’Challa asks. Steve nods. “Convenient, given your eating habits.”

Steve laughs, slipping his phone back into his pocket. But a moment later, his laughter fades away. “Does it always feel like this?” he asks.

He wishes he could take it back a moment later. All at once, it’s too much of a question and not enough of one.

But T’Challa’s expression softens. He’s been married for nearly a year to Nakia, one of the smartest and strongest diplomats Steve’s ever known. It can’t be easy, the two of them traveling and working constantly, oftentimes far apart. But together, they preserve Wakanda and hold together what feels like a tenuously strung world.

“It will get easier to live with,” T’Challa advises, then tucks into his soup.

— —

That night, he’s resting in his hotel room when Sam forwards him a batch of photos from the day’s events.

One of the few candid photos shows the two of them together, T’Challa grinning as Steve throws his head back in laughter. It’s a good photo, so Steve sends it along to Bucky. Bucky’s response is quick, a photo of a delicate pink cupcake with a hand-painted yellow flower on top.

_Today’s special: strawberry prosecco cupcake. They turned out good. I’ll make them again when you come back home._

Steve looks at the text, then back up to the cupcake. Something warm and weird fills his chest as he sees the message as a whole.

He wants to go home, he realizes. He wants to go back to Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I've had a really tough month and haven't been writing much. This is the first thing I've written in ages that just kind of came naturally. Not sure I'm in a writing groove again just yet. So... sorry for the sporadic updates.


	4. Chocolate Peanut Butter Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wants to take Bucky on a tour of the White House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I commissioned the very talented tasteslikekeys to do an illustration for this fic, which is now in chapter one!

“Wow,” Bucky says, doing his best Owen Wilson impression as he walks into the Oval Office for the first time.

“This is where everything happens,” Steve says, maybe a bit stupidly, as he gestures to his desk.

“It looks bigger in the movies,” Bucky says with a cheeky grin as he traces a finger along the edge of the couch. “So do you, though.”

“I don’t think I’ve been in any movies,” Steve says, trying to lean against his desk and act cool, calm, collected, despite being decidedly none of these things. It’s like take your kid to work day if you had one of the most important jobs in the world and a very cool and judgmental kid who thinks you’re doing kind of a bad job at that job.

But Bucky looks good in the Oval Office. He’s in his typical off-work gear: ripped black jeans and a faded ARMY t-shirt, hair pulled back. His metal arm shines from the light filtering in through the Oval Office windows. He thinks, probably, that Jackie Kennedy Onassis would have had a heart attack just to look at him standing in this office. Steve Rogers may have a heart attack, too, but for very different reasons.

“You’re on TV all the time, though.” Bucky moves across the room to stand at Steve’s side, pressed into him just a little.

“A consequence of the job, I guess.”

“It’s fun. I get to lean over and tell the guys at the bar, ‘hey, that’s my boyfriend’.”

“You tell them I’m your boyfriend?” Steve perks up a little.

“Yeah, the look on their faces in the split second when they actually believe me is priceless.”

Steve perks down a little. “Is it that unbelievable?”

“Buddy, you’re the President of the United States and have a sixty-four percent approval rating. I’m just an asshole. I think people would be much more willing to believe that I’m dating Martin Sheen than you.”

“Oh, well, we…”

 _Could make things public_.

The words die on his lips.

He knows that Bucky wants his privacy, that he’s shy and uncomfortable with the spotlight. If they went public, he’d be thrust into the public eye. People would look into his background, scope out his store. Honestly, if things got serious, he’d probably have to give up Cakes & Balances for at least as long as Steve’s in office. Even though they need to have a conversation soon, Steve can’t bring himself to bring up the topic of going public. In his heart of hearts, he knows that it’s going to ruin this soft, good thing that they have together.

But if they don’t go public, there’s no way they can keep this relationship going. It’s one thing for the President of the United States to go on a few dates with someone and keep it under the radar. It’s another to have a real relationship with someone and keep it from the American public. They’ll be found out eventually and will have to answer to the American public, either way.

Most likely, the American public won’t be happy either way.

But maybe Steve and Bucky could find happiness together. Somehow, that possibility seems like it could be the scariest of them all.

Bucky knocks into Steve’s side with his shoulder. “You think two dudes have ever done it in the Oval Office?” he asks with a sly grin.

“Bucky,” Steve says, cheeks turning red.

“You could bend me over this desk and—“

Of course, that’s when the door opens and Vice President Tony Stark walks in, already halfway through a sentence, Secretary of Defense James Rhodes close behind him.

“… saying that he’ll cause a scene on the National Mall if we don’t capitulate to – oh, that’s one of my arms, isn’t it?” Tony asks, eyes locked on Bucky’s prosthetic.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, hi,” he says, waving at Tony with the arm.

“Cool. You’re welcome,” Tony says, crossing the room and stopping in front of Steve and Bucky. “glad to see it’s being put to good use. Now who is this fashionably unwashed person in the most highly secure building in this country?”

“If you had bothered to look at today’s schedule, you would know who that is,” Rhodey says, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He looks at Bucky apologetically. “He’s a handful,” he says.

“I’ve heard.” Bucky’s got this cocky little grin and Steve wants to catch it, put it in a bottle, and stare at it like he did with fireflies when he was a kid.

“Who needs a schedule when our esteemed leader seems to have all the time in the world to give private White House tours?”

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Steve asks, a tension headache already forming behind his left eye.

“Rumlow and his caucus are making a fuss to get the Pierce Amendment tacked onto the Farm Bill this afternoon. You may want to send your flying monkeys in to keep that from happening.”

Steve exhales slowly. The Pierce Amendment would siphon much needed funds away from rural infrastructure towards border defense under the guise of ‘Keeping America’s Farmers Safe’. It’s a bullshit amendment that Steve thought the Senate had kept off the table. Turns out, he needed to focus on the House.

Fuck.

“Monkeys will be activated,” Steve says, then turns to Bucky. “I’m sorry, but—“

“Man, it’s almost like being the President means that you sometimes need to do work.” He leans in and kisses Steve on the cheek. “Need me to go or should I hang out somewhere?”

“What was that?” Tony asks Rhodey in the background. “Did that unwashed man just kiss the President on the face?”

“Tony, you’d know if you looked at the schedule,” Rhodey says.

“Well, I’m going to look at the schedule now that I know it’s the White House gossip rag!”

Ignoring Tony and his racket, Steve looks down at Bucky, a little bit in awe and wonder. They haven’t known each other long, but Steve knows how shy Bucky is, how little he wants to be seen.

And yet, he just kissed him in front of the Vice President of the United States and the Secretary of Defense. Steve can’t help the way that it makes a little bit of hope bubble up in his chest.

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, holding out his hand to Tony with a smile. “I’m Steve’s boyfriend.”

— —

Steve spends the afternoon that he’d blocked out to show Bucky Barnes – his _boyfriend_ – around the White House in deep conversation with lawmakers on both sides of the aisle. Of course, House Minority Leader Alexander Pierce couldn’t be bothered to show up, making some tepid excuse, but Steve does his best and, at the end of the day, the law passes without the amendment attached. But it’s a long, tough day, and like usual, Steve doesn’t feel great about some of the compromises he made in order to get his job done.

When he returns to the Oval Office around eight o’clock, Bucky’s laying on the couch, scuffed Doc Martens on the fabric, reading a book. Sam’s in the room with him.

“I’m not a babysitter,” Sam says, eyebrows raised. “I am your Chief of Staff.”

“You loved every minute,” Bucky says, straightening up. He sets his book on the couch next to him then stretches, t-shirt inching up and revealing a tantalizing stretch of pale stomach. They haven’t had much of an opportunity to do anything besides kiss and Steve would like to do… so much more than that.

“I will love every minute of my life that you’re not in,” Sam says to Bucky before looking up at Steve. “Any other menial tasks you need me for before I can go do my job?”

“Nope, just the usual menial tasks,” Steve says, loosening his tie and walking round to the couch and sitting down next to Bucky. Sam rolls his eyes and leaves the room. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, reaching down and taking Bucky’s hand, interlacing their fingers. He looks down at them; they seem to fit just right.

“I know you’re not sure that I get it, but I get it,” Bucky says. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “There’s a reason I brought a book.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I know what I’m signing up for,” Bucky says. “It’ll be worth it when I can give the first blow job in the Oval Office,” he adds with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I really doubt it’d be the first ever—” Steve starts but is interrupted by Bucky’s mouth on his. He gets with the picture quickly though, letting go of Bucky’s hand to wrap his own around Bucky’s back, moving the other to the side of his face.

They kiss for a few minutes, just enjoying the feel of one another, but Steve feels like he needs to pull back before things escalate further. “Bucky,” he says, panting just a little. It would be embarrassing if Bucky weren’t doing the same.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“It’s just… you can’t actually blow me here,” he says, feeling his cheeks getting red.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I know that, dingbat.” He pokes Steve in the chest. “Besides, if we did that you wouldn’t be able to get your surprise.”

“Surprise?” Steve asks. Most of the surprises in his life come from foreign adversaries in the middle of the night. Steve is not conditioned to enjoy surprises anymore.

“It’s good,” Bucky says. “I promise.”

And because it’s Bucky, Steve believes him.

— —

“Wow.”

“Two Owen Wilson impressions in one day, neither of them good. What a pair we make,” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and pulling him into his side.

“When’d you do all this?” Steve asks, turning his head away from the display of cupcakes and treats down in the White House kitchen to Bucky. “ _How’d_ you do all this?” he adds.

“I badgered Sam until he let me down here,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Sam is one of the most patient people I know.”

“Yes, but have you considered the fact that I am _very_ annoying?”

“Not to me,” Steve says, then presses a soft, lingering kiss to Bucky’s temple. He shuts his eyes and tries to tell Bucky everything he’s feeling but can’t quite articulate yet, not when he’s so soft and warm next to him, not when there’s a display of cupcakes and hand pies and intricately decorated cookies sitting in front of him like this was a final challenge on _The Great British Bake-Off_.

“Anyhow, the cupcakes are chocolate peanut butter. The cookies are a honey thing I’ve been experimenting with. And the hand pies are peach and raspberry.” He looks at Steve, smiles. “I would’ve done more but you just didn’t give me enough time. Solve another geopolitical problem or two and I can make bread.”

It’s too much. The kitchen smells too good and Bucky is too perfect. He pulls Bucky into his arms and presses his face into the crook of his neck. “Thanks,” he croaks out, then clears his throat, tries again. “Thank you Bucky.”

Bucky’s rubbing circles on Steve’s back. “It’s just dessert,” he says, soft and kind.

They both know it’s more than that, though.

“It’s a lot of dessert,” Steve says instead of anything important.

Bucky laughs. “It’s kind of what I’m good at.” He takes a step back, slipping out of Steve’s grip, but puts his hands on Steve’s forearms, a grounding touch as he looks into Steve’s eyes. “I’m willing to wait. I can entertain myself,” he says.

“I don’t—”

“You don’t gotta worry.” He smiles, gentle. Little lines form at the corners of his eyes. “I can wait.”

Steve nods. He understands.

— —

They sit together in a corner of the White House kitchen and eat cupcakes until Steve’s stomach aches. He feels like a kid, sugar high and giddy, riding the wave of emotions he’s feeling after an unexpectedly difficult day and an unexpectedly perfect evening.

Who knew that peanut butter frosting tastes a little bit like falling in love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left a comment on the last chapter. I'm sorry I haven't responded yet -- the last few weeks have been kind of overwhelming. I'll try to get to them as soon as I can. Please know your kind words are very appreciated! ❤


	5. Vanilla Coconut Cream Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve buys Bucky a gift.

“Sam, I have a question,” Steve says very late one night. They just finished up a pretty tense negotiation with some foreign powers on nuclear arms and they’re both exhausted; it shows on both of their faces, though more on Steve’s because Sam is unfairly handsome while Steve just looks more haggard with every day he’s in office. This job is not conducive to a good skin care routine.

“Is it about nuclear bombs?” Sam asks. He’s laying on the Oval Office couch, eyes closed. Steve sits behind his desk but only because he can’t find the energy to get up and go to bed. He’s going to fall asleep here and then the press corps are going to find him asleep in the Oval Office in four hours when he has to be back to sign a bill into law.

Being the President is awesome. He totally recommends it.

“No,” Steve says.

“Then shoot.”

“What is a good four month anniversary gift for my somewhat secret boyfriend that isn’t an ethics violation?”

“There is none,” Sam says.

Then both of them fall asleep.

— —

Steve tries Natasha a few days later before a press conference.

“You’re getting him a four month anniversary gift?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I want to,” Steve responds.

“You’re acting like a fifth grader,” she says, then asks an intern to get her six shots of espresso in one cup because she’s about to face a lot of questions she doesn’t necessarily want to answer and drinking enough caffeine to make the world shake around her will be the only way to get through this.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Steve says, despite that coffee order.

“Your pin,” Natasha says. “You can sing Bye, Bye Birdie while you’re at it.”

Steve frowns, then goes back to leading the country.

— —

“What is he getting you?” Secretary of State Thor Odinson asks as he gets his papers together for a trip to Ireland later in the day.

“I don’t know. Nothing, probably. He gets me things all the time, though. Mostly baked goods.”

“And you don’t share?” Thor asks, eyes wide and hurt and that’s how Steve ends up handing off a box of vanilla coconut cream cupcakes to Thor and his staff for their flight.

— —

Steve buys Bucky a sweater. It’s green and soft and he’s 90% sure that Bucky will never wear it, but it’s something he can put in a box, wrap up, and hand to Bucky when they sit down at a local (but empty) diner for dinner.

“What’s this?” Bucky asks, bringing the box up to his ear and shaking it.

“Just a little something. It’s our, well, we’ve been going out for four months.”

Bucky pauses, frowns. “I didn’t get you anything.” Steve can see the mental calculation going on in Bucky’s head, trying to figure out what he should’ve brought Steve.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, reaching over and putting a hand on Bucky’s knee. He gives it a squeeze as he continues, “It’s not even a good gift. I just wanted to give you something small.”

“I’m sure it’s a good gift,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “Do you want me to open it now, or…”

Steve shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, so Bucky goes ahead and opens the gift.

He smiles as he runs a hand over the fabric of the sweater. “It’s really soft,” he says, looking up at Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve responds, voice a little strained. There’s something about Bucky that just makes him… feel. He’s spent the past few years training himself to turn off his emotions just to get himself through the day. Though he’s done his work with as much compassion and empathy as he can have, the fact is that he has a job to do and he can’t always allow himself to stop and feel or else he’d never start up again. But now, Bucky turns the valve until the faucet is overflowing; Steve feels like it’s too much and not enough all at once as he struggles to contain everything that he’s kept locked inside of himself for so long. With just a look, Bucky starts the flood.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, looking up at Steve and smiling.

“It’s not a cupcake, but…” He trails off again, feeling so nervous, so silly over this small gesture.

“I have it easy. Almost everyone likes something from the bakery.”

“I like everything,” Steve says.

“I know,” Bucky says, reaching out and poking Steve in the tummy.

He should probably be arrested for poking the President of the United States in the tummy, but Steve will let it slide just this once.

“Just so I know, for reference, if I wanted to buy you another gift, what would you actually want?” Steve asks.

“The sweater is nice,” Bucky says. “But I guess if I could choose, I’d ask for world peace. You can get that for me, right?” Bucky asks with that cheeky smile of his.

“It’s not that simple,” Steve says, face falling.

“I know that,” Bucky says. He reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his, runs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. He looks at their hands for a long moment. “You give a lot already.”

“I want to give you something, though,” Steve says and it feels like they’re having another conversation entirely.

“You give me your time,” Bucky says, eyes flicking up to Steve’s. “You give me your laugh.”

It just flows and flows and flows from Steve and there’s no stopping him when he says, “I love you.”

The words hang between the two of them and there’s a moment where Steve wishes he could grab them back and stuff them in his mouth, swallow them down, and forget he ever said it.

Of course, he’s felt it before but it’s different now, sitting alone with Bucky (or, as alone as they ever are), and actually knowing him. He doesn’t just eat his cupcakes on a daily basis; he talks to Bucky, he sees Bucky, he feels Bucky. This isn’t infatuation. His heart beats for him now in a way that he doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t want to change.

Bucky’s grip on Steve’s hand tightens. “That’s a helluva gift,” he says.

“Do you want to return it?” Steve asks, voice strained.

“Of course not, dingbat,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I love you, too.”

Somehow those four words feel more momentous to Steve than any of the other literally historic occasions in his life. He always thought it was a line when people said that their wedding day was a bigger deal than their election, but he was wrong. Steve was so, so wrong.

Bucky orders a grilled cheese and Steve gets a tuna fish sandwich. They eat with their feet touching under the table, Bucky reaching over and stealing Steve’s fries because they’re crispier. And they toast to four months together with Cokes.

“Next time,” Bucky says as he kisses Steve goodbye in the diner’s bathroom, the place they keep returning to since it’s one of the few places they can be without people’s wandering eyes.

“Yeah?”

“A rainbow sweater.”

“Really?” Steve asks, smiling.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“So I can be loud about loving you.”

And Steve has to kiss him again after a line like that, but as he waves goodbye to Bucky a few minutes later, he thinks about it again.

He thinks about how it sounds, maybe, like Bucky may be ready to take their relationship public.

And something like hope bubbles up in Steve’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to say very much ahead of time that the next two chapters will be a little bit different! And I want you to know that it'll be okay.


	6. Bitter Salted Caramel Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam does not actually like Bucky's cupcakes.

Everything is ready to go. The paperwork is lined up on the table, a new pen sitting next to the tidy piles. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, too, for when it’s over.

Steve, meanwhile, is buzzing out of his skin, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

He managed to get an entire afternoon cleared for this, the last free time he’ll have in DC before heading to London tonight for the better part of a week. Secretly, he hopes that the next time he travels he’ll be able to take Bucky along with him, but it was important to him that they have this conversation now. It’s already been too long, he thinks — they love each other and Steve wants to be loud about that in the same way Bucky says he does, too.

“You ready?” Sam asks, poking his head into the room. He’s been busy with getting things set up for London most of the day and Steve is touched that he remembered that this is happening today.

Steve nods. “As much as I’ll ever be.” Asking Bucky to be his boyfriend officially, to be out and loud and under so much scrutiny… It’s nerve wracking, to say the least.

“I can’t believe the guy you’re choosing for this but good on you for doing it anyway,” Sam says, smiling and shaking his head as he disappears back into the doorway.

Steve chuckles, futzes with the arrangement and, a minute later, Bucky arrives.

“Hi,” he says, unable to keep himself from the dopey way he smiles just seeing Bucky in the doorway. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of seeing Bucky in the White House, the dichotomy between his torn jeans and the somewhat-pristine paragon of democracy — minus the part of the White House that’s kind of sinking. He walks over to him and kisses Bucky, slow and tender, savoring the feel of Bucky’s lips against his own.

“Woah tiger,” Bucky says. “I think the ghost of James Madison is watching us.” Steve looks up and sees Bucky staring at a portrait of James Madison in the corner and, come to think of it, it does sort of seem like Madison’s eyes are watching the two of them.

“Let him watch,” Steve says, smiling. “He’s probably just as happy to see you here as I am.”

“Unless James Madison was into some stuff that historians refuse to talk about, I really don’t think he wants to watch me make out with you.”

“You never know,” Steve says as he leans back in for another kiss, Bucky’s laugh against his mouth. He pauses, hovers. “There’s a lot that the historians don’t know,” he says before kissing Bucky again.

When he can finally bring himself to pull away, Steve smiles and takes Bucky’s hand. “It may seem weird I invited you here today,” he says.

“I know you have a whacky schedule, we already talked about that,” Bucky says, gently kicking at Steve’s shin with his boot. “I’m fine with making the trek over here.”

Steve nods. “That’s true, but there’s something else.” Bucky blinks, face falling. “Good things, I swear,” Steve says. He guides him over to the table with the papers and the champagne.

“What’s all this?” Bucky asks. He keeps his voice casual, but Steve can tell there’s something else behind it as he looks over the set up.

“Well, I… I think we both know that this is serious. I love you and I want you and I to be able to date in a more official capacity.”

“Steve…” Bucky says, then trails off.

“This is all just basic stuff, the same kind of things Sam had to fill out when he started working here. Security clearance, NDAs—“

“Another round of boyfriend paperwork.” Bucky had to sign a few NDAs before their first date.

“Exactly.” Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “There will be a press conference, too. I can do it this evening or from London, or if you need a day or two to—“

“No,” Bucky interrupts.

Steve stops, confused. “What?” he asks.

“You realize that I probably won’t pass whatever it is you need to get a security clearance, right?” Bucky asks, taking a step back and out of Steve’s grip.

“Why wouldn’t—“

“All of my arrests?” he says.

Steve shakes his head, just a little, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “That’s not, it won’t, I’ll—“

“And do you really think that people will tune into your press conference and see me in…” He gestures to his outfit. “And think that’s okay?” he asks, voice cracking on the last word.

“I like your clothes,” Steve says, voice smaller than he’d hoped it would be. “And you’re… there’s nothing to be ashamed of here. Not about this relationship and certainly not of you.”

“I’m a government-hating homosexual cyborg, Steve. I don’t really think that undecided voters in the rust belt are gonna get hyped that I’m boning the president.”

Steve doesn’t think that now would be the best time to bring up the fact that the two of them haven’t, in fact, boned yet.

“You’re a small business-owning veteran who truly believes that this country has the capacity to always do better. Bucky, you’re exactly the kind of person that I want by my side to convince undecided voters that they can believe in what we’re doing here.”

“If you tell the public that you’re dating me, you won’t get reelected,” Bucky says, voice flat, devoid of hope.

“Then there are more important things than getting reelected!” Steve responds, hackles rising. This is not how he thought this conversation would go and he’s starting to lose whatever cool he had left, all of his nervous energy becoming frustration.

Bucky shakes his head. “Have your people run the data?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Polling. Have they done the polling for what would happen if you and your weird boyfriend went public?”

Steve takes a breath. “Yes,” he says.

“And?”

“And they didn’t expect me to win last time, either.”

Bucky starts shaking his head. “Nope, I’m not going to do this,” he says.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” Steve responds, feeling himself grow desperate. He reaches out for Bucky. “Bucky—“

Bucky takes another step back, raising his hands up, the sunlight from the window hitting his silver palm, momentarily blinding Steve. “You’re still just infatuated with me. You’re infatuated with me and you’re not thinking straight.” He’s not accusing Steve of anything. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“That’s not true,” Steve says, face falling, something cold settling into his chest. “I love you.”

Bucky exhales. “I love you, too.” His voice is weak; he stares at his feet as he says it.

“Then let’s be brave. Let’s be loud, Buck. I know that it’s scary and I know there’s a lot of unknowns ahead of us, but if we don’t jump in, we can’t go anywhere.”

“Then we go nowhere,” Bucky says, sort of curling into himself, arms crossed over his chest like he’s giving himself a hug.

“I don’t want that. I don’t think you want it, either.”

Bucky shakes his head again, hair slipping from his little ponytail, dropping down to frame his face. “I knew that it was going to end at some point. I thought there’d be a little more time, but…” He trails off.

“I need to be honest, Bucky. I owe that to the people who elected me. We’ve already spent too long like this.”

Bucky nods. “I understand.” He pauses, looks up at Steve for a long moment. Then he closes the space between them in a few long strides, wraps his arms around him, and holds on tight. “Call me when your term is over,” he says with a tepid chuckle.

Steve shuts his eyes and presses his face to Bucky’s hair. He holds on tight and he doesn’t want to let go.

So it’s Bucky who has to pull away, wiping a tear from his eye. “Bye Steve,” he says, turning towards the door.

And Steve doesn’t know what he could possibly say to make him stay.

— —

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” Sam says an hour later as they sit together in the back of a town car, headed to the airport. Steve’s usually pretty annoyed by the Presidential Motorcade, would rather just be on his motorcycle or driving himself, but today he’s grateful for it. Someone else can just do the thinking for him while he sits in back and tries his to get himself together.

“Please don’t kick his ass,” Steve says, feeling tired, distracted. He’s thankful he has an overnight flight to London so he can just be for a little while, mourn the life he thought he was going to have an hour ago on a quiet, dark plane.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Sam says, automatic.

“I think, technically, yes I can,” Steve responds, then pauses. “Sam?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they have the cupcakes on the plane already?” he asks, feeling a sudden sense of panic. He always asks for a box of cupcakes or other treats from Cakes & Balances before a flight. He’s been doing that since before he and Bucky even started dating.

“Fuck,” Sam says, pulling out his phone. “We can have them take them off, just give me—“

“No,” Steve says, reaching over and grabbing for Sam’s phone.

“What the hell, Steve?” Sam asks, pulling it out of Steve’s trajectory.

Realizing that he’s acting like a dingbat — Bucky’s word, his traitorous mind reminds him — Steve drops his hand. “I… I’m never going to be able to get them again,” he says, the realization dawning on him with horror. “I want the cupcakes.”

“First of all, if you want Bucky’s shitty cupcakes, you can have Bucky’s shitty cupcakes. You’re the President of the United States and we will get you whatever cupcakes you need, even if we have to order them under a fake name, okay?” Steve gives up his fight for Sam’s phone to press his hands to his eyes, willing himself to calm down and not to cry. “And you know what, Steve? We can find you better cupcakes. I know what you think but those are _not_ the best cupcakes in DC.”

“We can’t,” Steve says, voice cracking, and knowing that this breakdown is about more than just cupcakes but feeling like he can’t let it be about anything more than cupcakes.

“Steve, those cupcakes are not moist, okay? And the ratio of frosting to cake? It’s off,” he says, punctuating each word. “And there is too much damn frosting on those cupcakes. And don’t get me started on how his fillings are always too sugary. You can make a dessert without overloading my taste buds!”

“Did you even try his bitter salted caramel cupcake? Sam, the dark chocolate was so good. It was so well-balanced.” He swallows hard. “It was perfect.”

“Then that is the exception that proves the rule!”

“His cupcakes are delicious, and I—“

The door opens. Steve hadn’t even noticed that the car had stopped. “Mr. President?” a concerned voice asks. Steve looks up and there’s Agent Carter in her black suit and sunglasses, earpiece in. “Ready?” she asks.

Steve takes a breath and tries to compose himself. He glances at Sam who looks like he’s doing the same thing but for much different reasons.

“Yes, thank you,” Steve says, even though he’s still distressed and still distracted. But he’s got his game face on, at least, which seems like a win given where he was at ten minutes ago.

But he can’t help but think that if maybe he weren’t so distressed, if he weren’t so distracted, he would’ve been paying more attention. And if he had been paying attention, maybe he would’ve heard Agent Carter when she yelled at him to get to the ground, would’ve allowed her to shield his body like she’s trained to do.

But he was distracted and distressed and he doesn’t listen. When Agent Carter moves towards him, he pushes her away to save her. And that’s how the bullet hits him.

And as he falls down to the ground, he sort of wishes Bucky were there, just so he could say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be fine! I promise! Take a breath! It'll be okay! The next chapter is already written and will be up on Wednesday.


	7. Peaches & Cream Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reassures that public that he's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for hanging in there through the last chapter!

“Oh thank God,” Sam says when Steve opens his blurry eyes. “Tony Stark won’t have to run the country.”

It takes Steve a minute to register where he is, why he’s waking up with Sam sitting next to him. And then he remembers: the bullet, the break-up, and the way he thought he was dying. He hasn’t had a near-death experience since he was a teenager going into the hospital with a heart that could barely tick, and he’d forgotten that time moves so slowly when the world shuts down around you, rather than fast.

“Haha,” Steve says finally, his voice coming out hoarse. He exhales, squeezes his eyes closed again for a second. Everything feels weird and not great, including the scratchy hospital gown he’s wearing and the room’s bright light. “How long was I out?” he asks.

“Six hours or so. Surgery went well, the doctors say you’ll make a full recovery,” Sam says, holding out a small plastic cup filled with water, which Steve takes gratefully.

“That’s good,” he says after taking a sip.

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sam says; Steve rolls his eyes.

“Can I have a minute to process? I was just shot.”

“You were shot about eight hours ago, but I’ll still give you two,” Sam says.

“Thanks.” Steve takes a breath, then another, lets the room come into focus. Sam takes the cup back from him. “How’s the country?”

“Freaking out a little but fine overall. No mobs forming or anything like that.”

“And who did it?”

“Member of an extremist Evangelical cult.” Sam’s smile falls. “You know, the ones who come out to protest wherever you are.”

“God hates…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to.

“Exactly.”

Steve nods, takes it in. There’s something a little bit poetic about dying for love, but he’d prefer not to do it in this capacity. Then again, no one can choose how they die.

“Is he alive?”

Sam nods. “Secret Service managed to grab him and cuff him before he got to anyone else. He’s being held in custody. Highest-security.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “And London—“

“Man, take a breath,” Sam interrupts, his voice softer. “You don’t have to worry about everything right now. London can wait.”

“Worrying about everything is kind of my job,” Steve says, eyebrows raised. It’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “How soon can we get my face on TV?”

“Believe it or not, your face is already on TV,” Sam says and Steve levels him with an unimpressed look. “Let’s have the doctors take a look at you, then wait an hour or two just to make sure you’re not gonna pass out halfway through the broadcast and make everyone freak out more than they already are.”

“That’s fair.” Steve hesitates, trying to figure out how to ask Sam about the information that he really wants to know without sounding pathetic and lovesick.

“He’s already here,” Sam says, sounding put-upon. He’s actively shaking his head.

Sam’s a good friend.

Steve looks up. “Who?” he asks, playing dumb even though they both know who Sam is talking about and it’s no use pretending otherwise. And because Steve just got shot and Sam is a good friend, Sam plays a long a little.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“He is?” The stupid machine that’s letting everyone know that Steve’s heart is still beating beeps a little more quickly, which is embarrassing as all hell.

“Made a whole big stink to get in, it was really unseemly,” Sam says. “He’s more of a wreck than usual.”

“Can I see him?” Steve asks, ignoring Sam’s protective snark. The fact is, he wants to see Bucky. And if Bucky’s not feeling well, Steve wants to comfort him, to make sure that he knows that it’s okay, regardless of what happens between the two of them. He doesn’t harbor any illusions; he knows they broke up. But he also knows that it was Bucky he wanted to see after being shot. That probably means something important.

“Can I stop you from seeing him?” Sam asks, tone light.

Steve smiles. “Probably not,” he says. “You know me… I’ll find a way.”

Sam sighs. “Doctors first. Then boys who don’t deserve you.”

A part of Steve wants to argue, but he doesn’t quite feel up to the task yet. Plus, it’s probably pretty logical to the let the doctors poke at him, make sure nothing’s too off. There will be plenty of time to argue with Sam in the future since he, y’know, survived being shot and all. So instead he reaches out and touches Sam’s arm. “Thank you,” he says.

Sam rolls his eyes, but when he speaks, his voice cracks just a little. “Just don’t die, okay? I cannot deal with Tony Stark being the actual President of the United States.”

“I’ll do my best,” Steve says, tightening his grip for a moment, then letting Sam go.

— —

The doctors are brief but thorough with him, going through results and texts, poking him and making sure that everything is working as well as it can given the circumstances. The bullet went through his side and he was lucky – it was a clean hit and didn’t hit anything major, so he’s going to be sore for a while but there won’t be much lasting impact besides a bad scar.

So it’s nearly an hour and a half before a familiar face appears in the doorway. “Bucky,” Steve says, smiling. “Hi.” Just seeing Bucky is medicine. Though Bucky looks like a wreck — hair disheveled with bags under his red eyes — Steve feels lighter, the room feels nicer, and the itchy hospital gown feels softer. Steve is so happy that he’s here.

“Hi,” he says. He’s carrying a wicker basket on his left arm. From the way he hefts it up to show Steve, it must be heavy. “I brought you… just about everything that was left in the store. There’s a few peaches and cream cupcakes that I think you’ll like.” He pauses. “I don’t think they’re that moist anymore,” he mutters, looking down.

“Moist?” Steve asks.

“Sam said…” Bucky trails off, sniffs. He runs his free hand across his eyes, then takes a second. “So you’re okay?” he asks.

“I mean, I was just shot,” Steve says, then his voice softens. “But yeah, I’m okay.” Bucky sets the basket down on the floor, then slowly walks to Steve’s bedside. He hesitates, wringing his hands, unable to meet Steve’s eye. “Hey,” Steve says and Bucky looks up. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I…” Bucky starts, his voice basically just a croak. “I signed all of the paperwork,” he says.

“What?” Steve asks, confused.

“All of the stuff, the security clearance forms and whatever. I filled them out and signed all of it. Someone from your office brought it over, and—“

“Bucky—“

“If you still want me, that is,” Bucky continues, ignoring Steve’s interruption.

Steve blinks. “If I still want you?” he asks. Bucky nods. “Of course I do,” Steve says, relief filling every part of him, from his head to his bullet wound to his toes. “I won’t ever not want you, Bucky.” He pauses. “But I also don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do just because I was shot. That would be the most ridiculous way to trap someone in a relationship they don’t want to be in.”

“I’m not doing it because you got shot,” Bucky says. “I’m doing it because you got shot and I had no way to see you or talk to you or even find out how you were doing. If Sam hadn’t taken pity on me and given me a call, I wouldn’t even be here right now.” He pauses, swallows hard. A few tears trickle down from his eyes. “And I’d rather let my life go a bit topsy-turvy than have to go through that again. I don’t want to wait until you’re out of office. I’m ready to be the First Boyfriend, okay? I want to be the First Boyfriend.”

“First Boyfriend?” Steve asks, grinning, feeling like his heart has grown six sizes.

“Shut up,” Bucky says, starting to cry in earnest.

“Come here,” Steve says, holding his arm out, and Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. He crawls into the bed next to Steve, even though it’s a tight fit with the two of them, and probably can’t hold their weight. It’s probably a strange sight, the bed-ridden President of the United States with his boyfriend curled up close to him, dirty boots on the white hospital sheets. But as Bucky presses his face to Steve’s chest and whispers that he loves him, Steve can’t see how a love like this could inspire so much violence and so much hate. Because despite the hole in his side, being here with Bucky makes him feel whole.

“Hey Steve?” Bucky asks once he’s calmed down a little.

“Yeah?”

“Next time my attention, just call. You don’t need to get yourself shot.”

“I’ll take that into consideration but can’t make any promises,” Steve says with a laugh.

— —

“Everyone, I’m happy to report an interruption to tonight’s scheduled programming. Seems like our President is back up on his feet and is well enough to address the nation for a few minutes, so we’ll be changing over to him. Stay tuned,” Rachel Maddow says with a smile as the picture shifts over to a new scene.

Across the world, people watch as President Steven Grant Rogers sits in a hospital conference room. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a tired smile. There are bags beneath his eyes and some bruising on the side of his neck. “Hello everyone,” he says. “I’m speaking to you live from Washington, D.C. As many of you know, I was shot last night. As most of you now know, I survived the encounter.

“As I address you all tonight, I don’t want to focus on the particulars of the perpetrator, their views, and the act they committed, which I know have become a topic of national conversation. There will be time to think about all of that. But tonight I want to focus on what I’m grateful for as I sit here before you.

“I’m grateful to the Secret Service, led by Agent Peggy Carter, who were able to take the shooter in alive and unharmed while simultaneously ensuring the safety of myself, my staff, and the airport employees. Only one person was injured yesterday, which seems like a miracle.

“I’m grateful to my Chief of Staff Samuel Wilson, who guided all of us through an extraordinarily stressful situation, and has continued to run the White House staff from a hospital waiting room. If it weren’t for his quick thinking and kindness, this whole situation would have been much worse.

“I’m grateful to Vice President Tony Stark, who was ready to do his duty for the country while I was incapacitated, as well as all of the other members of my cabinet, who have stepped up in the past day to make sure that this country continues to run.

“And I am grateful to my boyfriend, James Barnes, for being there for me.” He pauses, thoughtful. It’s like he can tell that people across the country are gasping all at once. “James – who prefers to go by the name Bucky – and I have been quietly seeing each other for the past few months and has been an incredible change in my personal life. Bucky is a small business owner and a veteran. He’s outspoken about his beliefs and kind-hearted. He makes the best cupcakes in Washington D.C. And I’m in love with him.

“There are a lot of people in the world who want to pretend that hate is a greater force than love. I don’t think that’s true. Love fuels both myself and my staff. We come to work each morning because we love the United States of America and all of its inhabitants. It’s because of that love that we do our best to make sure that everyone living in this country has the life they deserve. No one will stop us from doing that, so long as I’m in office. No bullet can keep me from loving my country and doing my duty to change my country for the better. And I hope that when the time comes for me to leave this office, my staff and I will leave a legacy of love that future administrations and young leaders can look to as an example.

“This is going to be a short message because, well, I was shot in the chest today, but before I go, I want to remind everyone out there that there is hope, that there is life, and there is love in this world of ours. Good night America. I hope you’re all able to spend time with the people you care about tonight like I will.”

— —

“That was a nice speech,” Bucky says as Steve gets back to his hospital room. Bucky’s sitting on the hospital bed, legs dangling down. Sam is in the corner trying to do something on his laptop. Exhausted from dressing up, making a speech, and just generally being a person, he feels a palpable sense of relief to see his two favorite people waiting for him. He hopes that when Natasha is done putting out fires, she can come over, too. “But I can feel a disturbance in the force, like millions of people are typing my name into Google all at once,” he adds as Steve sits down next to him on the bed.

Steve laughs, leans down, and kisses Bucky’s hair. “You’re being very brave,” he says with his eyes shut, just feeling Bucky against him. It’s the best feeling in the world.

“You’re the one who just went on national television after being shot,” he scoffs as his arms wrap around Steve.

“Let me say nice things to you. I just got shot.”

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Bucky asks.

“You started it,” Steve responds.

“You two are nasty,” Sam says, grabbing his laptop and leaving the hospital room. “I am going home to take a shower so I can wash this nastiness from myself. Then tomorrow, it’s back to work for all of us.”

Steve laughs. “Goodnight Sam,” he says as Sam waves, leaving the room. Then he turns to Bucky. “But tonight, let’s just stay together,” he says with a smile.

“I can do that,” Bucky says.

It takes a bit of maneuvering to get themselves into a comfortable position on the too-small bed, underneath the thin hospital blanket, but somehow they manage it. They’re so close together that Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on his cheek. He shuts his eyes, savoring the feeling of Bucky’s thumb gently rubbing circles into his hip.

There’s going to be a lot of things to face tomorrow. Tomorrow, there will be an investigation into what happened, a trial and media circus to follow. Tomorrow, people will start digging into his relationship with Bucky and everyone will come climbing out of the woodwork to try to find reasons they shouldn’t be together. And tomorrow, there will be the general day-to-day lunacy of the world’s best and worst job.

But tonight, right now… He just wants to fall asleep with the love of his life at his side.

And he does.

— —

_END OF PART ONE_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of our angst! Part two will be about Bucky getting used to being in the public eye (and the next chapter will be from Bucky's POV). A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment and give some encouragement on this fic. Everyone's excitement and trust in me has been very humbling and I'm really happy to produce a story that people are enjoying so much!


	8. Just Because I Love The President Doesn’t Mean You Can Go Through My Trash Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begrudgingly checks Instagram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience between chapters for this one. I gave myself a bit of a break here to work on my Big Bang and think about where I want this fic to go moving forward. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, if you like politics, be sure to check out [Political Animals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258188/chapters/48014926) by crinklefries and Deisderium!

If there was one thing Bucky Barnes never expected to be in this life, it would be a celebrity.

Now, he looks on in horror as America gleefully scrolls through the hundreds of Instagram fan accounts that keep popping up literally overnight. The President of the United States was just shot, but it’s Bucky Barnes that seems to be taking the Internet by storm, whether it’s people fawning over his service record or freaking out about an interview his high school girlfriend gave to _People_ saying that Bucky couldn’t possibly be gay because they lost their virginity together at sixteen.

For the record, Bucky did lose her virginity to her but he also grew up in small-town Indiana, so it’ snot like he had a whole lot of gay choices back then.

“This one is literally dedicated to your ass,” America says. “Only twelve photos though,” she adds, disappointed. Bucky grabs the phone from her, wide-eyed. She’s right — the account does only has twelve photos, but each one of those twelve photos features his ass, zoomed in and cropped to fit the square Insta frame.

“These are twelve more photos of my ass than should have ever gotten onto the Internet,” Bucky says before making the mistake of glancing up at the follower count:

11,628 followers and counting.

“I wish I were the one who was shot,” Bucky says and almost believes that he’s kidding about it.

America takes her phone back from him and pats him on the back. “You’re gonna need to watch your mouth now that everyone in the world is waiting for their story to sell to TMZ.”

Bucky looks over at her wide-eyed, his favorite employee, one of the few people on earth who he trusts and says, “You’re not going to sell me out, are you?”

She shrugs. “If this price tag is high enough, sure.”

He groans and she laughs and while Bucky knows that she’s kidding, can he really be sure?

— —

Bucky waits two weeks to open Cakes & Balances back up again after Steve goes public with their relationship. He’s not an asshole, so he pays his employees for their time off, but he’s increasingly aware of how keeping the bakery while still paying his employees means that his own bank account is sliding towards zero. But at the same time, he just wants to hole up wherever Steve is, bar the door, and not talk to anyone ever again.

There’s an Instagram dedicated to counting the days since Cakes & Balances has been open. Every day thousands of people comment, saying they’ll be there bright and early when Bucky opens the doors again. After years of trying his best to attract a customer base, he’s finally getting his cronut moment of popularity and he doesn’t even want it.

“We’ll have a security detail for you,” Agent Carter promises after one of the commenters says they’ll be doing more than just buying a croissant at the little shop.

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “Security should help.” But it still doesn’t squash the sick feeling in his stomach.

— —

Security only sort of helps. The two Secret Service agents sent on the taxpayer dime to protect Bucky handle the crowd at Cakes & Balances, and keep the screaming hoards moderately at bay. But they can’t stop Bucky from slipping down behind the counter minutes before opening, head in hands, and barely breathing.

“Get to the back,” America tells him as she ties her apron and fires up the cash register. “I’ll take it from here.”

— —

“Take some time off,” Steve suggests on the phone that night.

“I don’t think that’ll help. People want to catch a glimpse.”

He can hear Steve exhale. “I know the feeling.”

Bucky wishes they were together right now but Steve needs to catch up on everything he missed after _literally being shot_ and people get testy when their meeting with the President gets pushed back, so he’s working extra hours after _literally being shot_ to try to make it up to folks. He’s too good for his own good.

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asks.

“Don’t think so.” And it’s weird how sometimes the most powerful person in the world actually has no power at all. “I’ve got a few ideas though.”

“Wanna share with the class?” Steve asks.

“Just promise you won’t get mad.”

— —

The media is not impressed by the next day’s cupcake special:

 **Leave Me Alone Cupcake** : Bitter dark chocolate cake with a cranberry coconut cream filling, topped with vanilla buttercream and toasted coconut shavings.

The only person less amused than a certain conservative host on _The View_ is Sam Wilson, who insists that the added coconut dries out the already arid cake even further.

— —

 **Stop Taking Pictures Of My Ass Cupcake** : Peach cupcake with a sharp apricot jam filling topped with vanilla buttercream.

 **Just Because You Knew Me In Middle School Doesn’t Mean You Have A Story Cupcake** : Cinnamon cupcake with peanut butter filling, topped with chili chocolate buttercream.

 **No, I’m Not Your Daddy, Stop Saying So On Instagram Cupcake** : Rainbow cupcake batter with buttercream and M&M chunks.

 **Fuck Off TMZ Cupcake** : Lemon poppyseed cupcake with bay-infused frosting.

 **Just Because I Love The President Doesn’t Mean You Can Go Through My Trash Cupcake** : Literally whatever is leftover from yesterday.

— —

“They’re disgraceful,” one pundit with a truly tragic mustache says. “And they reflect Barnes’ already steady track record of America-hating activities.”

“Like going to war and losing his arm in service of this country?” Another person at the round table argues.

“The Oklahoma City bomber served in Desert Storm,” the first one says and Bucky turns off his TV.

Not one of them says that his cupcake names could double as early Fall Out Boy song titles, which is the hot take he was really looking for.

— —

Steve, for his part, thinks it’s all hilarious. “I especially enjoyed the Where Did You Even Find My Baby Pictures Cupcake. The milk-flavored frosting was really interesting,” he says about a week and a half after Bucky reopened Cakes & Balances.

Bucky snorts, then snuggles in closer to Steve. Steve puts a hand in his hair, gently weaving his fingers through. It’s weird to be in Steve’s bedroom; Bucky can’t get over the thought that Mary Todd Lincoln used to sleep in here. It would be easier to forget if the mattress didn’t feel like it survived Gettysburg, but Steve likes his lumpy, hard sleep rock, apparently.

“So you’re not pissed?” Bucky asks, just to be sure.

“You’re a private citizen exercising your First Amendment rights. I’m proud of you,” Steve says. “But I’m always proud of you.”

Bucky adjusts so he can look up at his stupid, perfect boyfriend, radiating goodness and bald eagle bullshit even when he’s wearing a faded grey New York Marathon t-shirt and worn flannel shorts. “And all those conservative think piece writers say that you’re just a stick in the mud liberal with no respect for the Constitution,” Bucky says.

Chuckling, Steve leans down and presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “I try not to read what people say about me,” Steve says and Bucky sighs. “I know it’s tough,” Steve says, back to stroking. “You’re being tough.”

“Stop,” Bucky says, pressing his face to Steve’s chest so his voice comes out muffled. He doesn’t want Steve to feel like he needs to focus on Bucky’s feelings right now; the man has bigger fish to fry. It should be enough just to stay here with him, safe and cozy in this bedroom, in Steve’s arms.

Bucky knew what would happen when they went public; he was as prepared for the onslaught as he could be. It doesn’t make things easy and it doesn’t make the judgment and bullshit hurt less than it does. But of all the people in the world to get this shit thrown at him, Bucky thinks he can take it. He’s been through hell and gotten back just to end up here. He can take the judgment of about 87% of the world’s population and shove it down in the hole in his subconscious where he keeps all of the other shit he’s been through and maybe even carry a little extra for Steve.

“I love you,” Steve says a few seconds later.

“You’re fine,” Bucky responds because he’s still incapable of sincerity.

Steve leans down to kiss his hair again and then to kiss other parts of Bucky and then they’re just lost in each other, at least for a little while.

— —

Bucky sleeps soundly for the first time in weeks.

— —

Which is why it sucks so bad that he’s woken up by Sam Wilson.

“Rise and shine,” Sam says, opening the door.

“Is this how you wake up every morning?” Bucky asks a sleep-rumpled Steve next to him.

“Not if I can help it. What’s going on?”

“The next election cycle began this morning,” Sam says, sitting down at the end of the bed with an iPad, which he holds up to the two of them. A movie begins to play, showing the rolling hills of what the caption tells them is the scenic Virginia countryside.

“I love this great nation,” says a voiceover in a familiar, masculine tone. “I love the hardworking American families who come together each day to build this nation and keep it going.” The image changes to a bunch of white people at a farmer’s market, laughing as they buy some zucchini. “I believe in the power of the American people.”

The image changes again, this time to Senator Alexander Pierce’s Washington DC office. “Hello, I’m Senator Alexander Pierce. My family has lived in this country since its inception and has spent the last century serving the United States in elected office. Today, I’m excited and proud to share with you my plans to run for the highest and most honorable office in the nation: the presidency. Every day, our nation’s values are put to the test. We need someone at the helm of this country who understands where the country came from and can get us to where we need to go. I believe I can be that man. A vote for Alexander Pierce is a vote for a traditional United States,” he says before the screen fades to black.

Everyone just stares at each other for a long moment before Bucky says, “That zucchini was pretty phallic.”

There’s a pause.

“What?” Sam asks, long-suffering.

Bucky shrugs. “For a video all about _traditional American values_ , they picked the gayest vegetable.”

Sam just stares at him as Steve cracks up next to him. “There’s no way we’re winning this election,” Sam says, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling, like it will give him answers.

“No,” Steve says, straightening up in bed and grinning. “With this team? There’s no way we can lose.”

And even though his head wants to side with Sam, one look at Steve and Bucky’s heart is ready for the campaign trail. So all he can do is shake his head and ask…

“When do we start?”


	9. Goodnight Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a moment of doubt.

**One Year Later**

  
If Steve thought that hitting the campaign trail was difficult while he was running for office, it’s nothing compared to how it is being the actual President of the United States.

Part of it is that Pierce is a formidable opponent. Not that he hadn’t battled his way through the primary and general against formidable opponents, but Pierce is different. He has the uncanny ability to get under Steve’s skin, say the same things that Steve’s spent his life fighting against in easily packageable ways that somehow appeal to the folks that Steve’s been desperate to reach during his time in office.

The models flip one way, then the other. It’s a tough fight and it’s only going to get more difficult as they get closer to election day. Every day is a struggle.

Every moment, really. Like this moment where he’s trying to navigate eight different things at once.

“Yes, can you get the Senator on the… No, there needs to be another sentence at the end of… If we go to Little Rock at the end of the month, we can—“

“Finish a thought?” Bucky interrupts as he opens the door. Steve looks up from his laptop as Bucky walks across the hotel room towards the bed, eyebrow raised. Knowing what’s about to come, Steve moves his laptop out of the way and sets down the phone, forgetting to actually hang up. He doesn’t realize that Sam’s still on the line until a few moments later, when he can hear him say, “ _STEVEN_.”

“Probably not,” Steve says. His head throbs underneath the rapidly greying hair at his temples that he can no longer be in denial about. “Hi.”

“Hi. It’s nearly midnight. Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?” Bucky asks, standing next to the bed, looking at the scene in front of him. It’s not judgment; it’s worry. It’s nice to have someone worrying about him, all things considered.

“Probably,” Steve admits. He’s done his stump speech three times today and talked to more people than he can count, trying his best to really listen to their concerns and give them honest answers, which means he’s both on the spot and sometimes delivering bad news.

He did have a great dinner at a local diner, Bucky by his side, but then they split up for the evening so Buck could give a speech on a college campus while Steve hit up a larger rally in the suburbs. The college kids love Bucky, though, and he drives voter registration wherever he goes. Besides, it’s a good excuse to ask Bucky to come along on these trips with him. Having Bucky by his side makes everything better.

Still, t’s been a helluva day, and they’ll be taking Air Force One back to D.C. in just a few hours so they can be in town while the Senate votes on some important legislation.

Bucky grabs the phone from where Steve left it, puts it up to his ear, and says, “Good night Sam” before hanging it up, plugging it in, and setting it down on the wooden nightstand next to Steve’s bed, their bed. Bucky’s technically sharing a room with one of Steve’s campaign staffers, but he won’t actually be sleeping there.

“Sam’s not going to like that,” Steve says, beckoning Bucky over to him.

“Sam doesn’t like much of anything I do. Hanging up on him once won’t change that,” Bucky says, pulling off his shirt and getting onto the bed. He sits in the V of Steve’s legs, facing Steve, his own legs bent over Steve’s thighs. His lips spread into a gentle smile as he looks Steve over. “You look tired.”

“I know.” Steve exhales. “Feel tired, too.”

Bucky reaches out and touches the hair at his temple. “You look hot, too.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, swatting Bucky’s hand away. “I’m going to end up being one of those ‘before and after the presidency’ pictures they show to middle schoolers, to let them know how stressful the job is, like Abraham Lincoln.”

“You’re just getting hotter.” Bucky says, giving Steve’s thigh a squeeze.

“Just getting older,” Steve mutters, frowning. “Wondering what it’s for.”

It’s just a moment of insecurity, brought on by too many handshakes, too many promises he hopes he can keep. Too many ads for Alexander Pierce, promising that tradition will always prevail. Too many notes from his campaign staff, letting him know that whatever it is that Alexander Pierce is selling, people are buying.

Since the first time he launched an unsuccessful campaign for student council, he knew that he’d become a punching bag. But it’s all been worth it, to reaffirm people’s humanity. Still, there are cold nights where he wishes he could do that without having to have people question his own.

“For all of us, I guess,” Bucky says. The room’s pretty dark, only lit by the lamp sitting on the nightstand. He hadn’t realized how dark it was until Bucky came inside. “Got the weight of the world on your shoulders, huh?”

“Feels a little heavier tonight.”

“That’s probably just all the cupcakes you eat,” Bucky says, stupid beautiful smile on his face.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Haven’t had one of those since we hit the road.”

Bucky reaches back and strokes Steve’s hair again. “We’ll be home soon.”

Well, they’ll be in their separate homes. Bucky spends a lot of time at the White House, but he’s not a permanent fixture yet. He can’t imagine what the reaction to him moving in his unmarried boyfriend into the White House would be. He needs to, at least, wait until he’s reelected to try that public relations hurdle.

Bucky leans in and kisses Steve, soft and tender. Steve reaches down for Bucky’s waist, holding on tight. Their kiss ends too soon but the world around them still feels soft. “I’ll make you whatever you want when we get back.”

“Huh?” Steve asks, mind admittedly on other things.

“Cupcakes,” Bucky says, gently poking Steve’s side. “I’ll make you whatever kind of cupcake you want.”

“I don’t know the flavor combinations like you do.”

“Then I can make one up for you, something new.”

“Make one up for me now?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. He reaches over and turns out the light, then pulls the blanket up so he and Steve can slip inside and next to him, which he does. They face each other and when he looks into Bucky’s eyes in the darkness, he can pretend that the world is a much smaller place.

“Got a cake flavor you want?” Bucky asks.

“No.”

“Hmm… how about an almond cupcake with a vanilla cream filling and amaretto frosting?”

“Sounds perfect,” Steve says.

“A nightcap cupcake.”

“Wish I could have one now.”

Bucky leans in and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve shuts his eyes and inches closer, memorizing this feeling.

“I’ll make ‘em as soon as we get back,” Bucky promises. “But for now, goodnight cupcake.”

That makes Steve opens his eyes again. “Am I the cupcake now?” he asks, a little surprised.

“You’re _my_ cupcake now.” Bucky’s voice seems to catch in his throat. “And you’re _my_ cupcake forever. Don’t forget that, okay?” His fingers find the hair at Steve’s temples again. “Think you can get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I can get some sleep.”

— —

Steve gets to try the Nightcap Cupcake the next day. IT’s delicious. But not as good as the feeling of Bucky’s fingers in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Showing up a hundred years late with cupcakes. Sorry for the mega long delay between chapters! I was working my butt off on [A Company Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423829/chapters/51045004) (which, pssst, posts on Wednesdays for the next few months) and then I spent the month of November with crippling writer's block and I basically wrote nothing. But I'm here! And I have a game plan for the last few chapters of this fic! So hopefully we will all be done here soon. Thank you everyone for your kind words and patience, it's very much appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Comments are always very, very appreciated. 
> 
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